


Karezi Week Contributions

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Blind Terezi, Character Death, F/M, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Humanstuck, Sloppy Makeouts, now with 2x the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some folks on tumblr decided to designate January 6-12 as Karezi Week, so I figured I'd be productive for once and write for the occasion, using the themes listed on the kareziweek blog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memoirs of a Baby Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> January 6 - First Meeting
> 
> this is just a silly humanstuck thing. yes, i know it's cliche. no, i don't care.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope. You are only five years old, and today marks an important moment in your childhood. It’s your first day attending kindergarten, but you’re not nervous at all. As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect opportunity to show off your dragon roar. This probably isn’t the best way to make friends, but that doesn’t occur to you. After all, who doesn’t like dragons? 

A few of the other children sulk because they miss their parents already, but most of them are busy playing, either with each other or the toys provided. After spending a short while gallivanting around the room and getting told repeatedly by your supervisors not to run indoors and to use your inside voice, you notice that not all of your peers have formed groups. A small boy in a sweater with a crab on the front is sitting alone, away from the ruckus. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he carefully stacks building blocks on top of one another.

Deciding this warrants further inspection, you head towards him, getting close enough to see that what he’s making appears to be some kind of building. Your eyes light up; this is your chance to play dragons with somebody!

Unfortunately, you don’t put too much thought into how to properly solicit his attention first. You simply dash over as fast as your short legs can carry you, imitating the roar of a dragon to the best of your ability, and run straight into the incomplete structure. The blocks scatter at your feet. His building didn’t stand a chance against your might.

You stand over the ruins, hollering triumphantly, “I am a dragon! Fear my wrath!”

The boy looks a little stunned at first. Then he glares up at you with big, dark eyes and demands, “What the heck did you do that for?”

“‘Cause I’m a dragon,” you repeat, as if that should explain everything. “And everyone knows dragons love stomping on buildings and stuff. It’s basically our job. So's breathing fire, but I’m not old enough to do that yet.”

His face scrunches up a little, and his eyes start to water. “But you’re not a dragon,” he says with a slight tremor in his voice. “You’re just mean, and I don’t want you here. Go away!”

That’s when you notice tears start to roll down his cheeks, and you crouch to get at eye level with him, alarmed. “Hey, wait, don’t cry! You’re not s’posed to cry, I wasn’t trying to make you sad! You were all by yourself, so I just wanted to play with you.”

“I said to leave me alone!” he insists, hastily attempting to wipe at his cheeks with the sleeves of his sweater. “I don’t wanna play with anyone, and ’specially not any mean people like you!”

“But I’m not a mean person!” you argue, indignant at the accusation. “See, I’ll prove it.” You reach to gather up the blocks you’d knocked down, trying to pile them up the way you’d seen him do it.

He watches you for a few moments, his crying gradually being reduced to a mere sniffle. “You’re not even doing it right, dumb-dumb,” he finally says, still sounding a little bitter. He takes the blocks from you, arranging them in the same pattern that he did before to build a foundation. You’re so intrigued that you can’t even bring yourself to be offended that he called you a rude name.

“Hey, I wanna help,” you tell him after observing this process for a minute or two. “Can I help?”

“No. I don’t want you messing it up again,” he replies without even looking up.

You pout. “But I won’t. I’m done being a dragon now, okay? I promise.”

He pauses to peer at you skeptically, and you stubbornly maintain eye contact until he concedes at last with a sigh. “Why’d you even come over here, anyway? Everyone else is doing something different. You’ll pro’lly have more fun with them.”

“You looked lonely, I guess,” you respond with a shrug, having not pondered your own reasons too much. “So I thought you might want someone to play with." You don’t like being left alone for too long, so surely it’s the same for other people, right? Especially other kids your age.

“Sorry for knocking over your building, though. I thought everyone likes dragons. I didn’t know you’d get all upset,” you add, glancing down at the floor sheepishly.

“… Whatever.” His reply to your apology is a little callous, but he thankfully doesn’t seem distressed anymore at your presence. “I don’t need anyone to play with me. But… if you really want to, I _guess_ it’s okay. Since you’re not actually _that_ mean.” Before you can get too excited, he quickly continues, “But if you wanna build this with me, you have to do it the way I say to.”

You nod agreeably and scoot closer. “Okay, fine.” You don’t mind if he takes the reins here, since he seems to know how to build better than you do. Dragons are much better at destroying structures than creating them, but maybe you can actually learn something here.

Suddenly, you remember that you never even bothered to learn his name. Gosh, you’ve been rude today in more ways than one. “Hey, you never told me what your name is! Mine’s Terezi.”

It takes him a few seconds to break his concentration and speak up. “It’s Karkat.”

“Karkat? That’s a cool name. Not as cool as mine, though.” You’re quick to jump between topics, never one to idle on any particular train of thought for too long. “Later, I’m gonna show you how to draw, since you’re showing me how to build.” You state this matter-of-factly, like you’ve already made up your mind on the matter.

“You can draw?” He looks mildly interested, and you can’t help but beam and nod excitedly.

“Yeah, and I’m real good at it, too! Kinda like how you’re good at building.”

“And kinda like how you’re also good at breaking things?” The comment is surprisingly witty, but you can tell your compliment flattered him at least a little bit.

“Nuh-uh!” you protest. “Just buildings and stuff. Mom would be mad if I broke stuff all the time. And besides, I already promised I wouldn’t do that anymore, remember?”

“If you say so.”

“I’m serious! I’ll pinky-swear it and everything,” you say earnestly, holding your hand out to him with your pinky extended.

He glances from you to your hand, as if he thinks you might retract it at the last second. Once he curls his pinky around yours, though, he appears to relax slightly. After all, everyone knows pinky-swears can’t be broken.

“Plus, we’re friends now, and I don’t wanna make any of my friends cry,” you inform him after he pulls away.

For a second, he looks like he might object to your statement about him crying, but then his expression morphs into one of surprise. “We’re friends?”

“Of course we are, dummy! I only use pinky-swears with friends.” You don’t know why he’d have any doubt about it at this point. Tilting your head curiously to one side, you go on more hesitantly, “Unless you don’t wanna be, I guess.”

He shrugs again, his demeanor suddenly rather shy. “I dunno. No one’s ever said that to me before.”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “You mean you don’t have any other friends?”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t seem to find what he’s admitting as sad as you do. “Well, then I’ll just be your first,” you decide.

“… Okay.” You think you see a faint smile start to form on his face. Although you don’t think you’ll get him to admit it aloud, he seems to enjoy the company more than he preferred being alone.


	2. Rulers of the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 7 - Flower Crowns
> 
> Terezi somehow convinces Karkat to come all the way from his lawnring to visit her hive. Conveniently, it's at the same time of the sweep that flowers bloom across the branches of her tree, so she takes advantage of the occasion to make a couple flower crowns. In an even more miraculous turn of events, she actually gets him to wear one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i was thinking: what if terezi's tree grew blossoms in certain seasons? wouldn't that be cool? of course it would. and terezi would be all about that shit. on the other hand, karkat secretly kind of enjoys the floral aesthetic, but he doesn't want to admit it. nerd.
> 
> (also, fair warning for some ableism on karkat's part. because it's karkat.)

“Terezi, this is dumb.” Your legs dangle over the edge of the branch you’re perched on, which is much higher up than you’re entirely comfortable with.

“Is that so? In that case, I don’t know why you’re complaining, Karkat. That makes this activity perfect for you!” your best friend replies, her voice thick with sarcasm. She doesn’t even glance up at you, her fingers busy weaving together flower stems.

That’s the “activity” to which she’s referring. She gave you an ambiguous invitation to hang out, and somehow you ended up on the high branches outside her weird hive, picking spring blossoms as pink as the leaves of the tree it sits in. She’s already wearing an asinine headband made from them.

“Hardy har har. Remind me why the fuck I haven’t pushed you off this branch yet.”

“Well, I did invite you to _my_ hive, and you didn’t actually _have_ to come in the first place. So you tell me,” she quips, flashing you a grin. “In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because you’ve formed some kind of weird obsession with me!”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anything, I’d say that _you’re_ the weirdo with the obsession here, because you wouldn’t stop bugging me to come see your hive in person.”

“Only because I wanted you to see for yourself how pretty it is in the spring! Also, your hive is boring, and I don’t think your lusus likes me, anyway.”

“Yeah, he tends to be wary of anything that can cause me serious bodily harm,” you retort snidely.

She cackles. “I could do that, couldn’t I? But I won’t.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better now,” you snort, crossing your arms over your chest and refusing to look down.

“Hey, cheer up. Look, I finished yours!” Terezi proudly holds up a small wreath made from pink flowers she plucked from nearby branches.

“… I never said I’d actually wear one if you made it for me,” you remind her, frowning at the flower crown as though it's offended you somehow. You try to hide the fact that you’re actually sort of impressed with her craftsmanship, and rather irritated that a blind girl can weave flowers together in a cohesive arrangement better than you could, if you ever felt like debasing yourself by even attempting something so silly.

“But if you don’t, you’ll be putting all my hard work to waste!” She brings a hand to her chest, feigning a hurt look.

“You’ll live. Besides, it only took you, like, five minutes to make that.”

She puffs out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. Then, as if struck by a flash of inspiration, she suddenly brightens. “Hey, I’ve got an idea!”

_Oh boy_.

“How about this: if you can make a better crown than I can, I won’t make you wear this one,” she continues, grinning.

“Or,” you counter, “instead of doing that, which would be a complete waste of my time, I could permanently free myself from your idiocy by doing a backflip off this stupid tree.”

“What, afraid you’ll lose to someone who can’t even see what she’s doing?”

Your brow twitches. You hate the fact that she knows your vices, the most prominent of them being that you can’t resist a challenge. “Fine. You’re on, Pyrope.”

You don’t even have half a crown formed before you start tearing the petals off of the flowers in frustration.

That’s how you end up with a floral wreath on your head to match hers, complemented by the scowl etched into your features. “Lighten up, nubs,” she tells you as she puts it on. “It’s not like anyone can see you - not even me!”

“Yeah, well, I _feel_ like an asshat.”

“Not just any asshat. You have a crown; therefore, you are King of the Asshats!”

“Then what are you supposed to be, Queen of the Psychotic Tree-Dwelling Dipshits?”

“Heh. Touché, Your Majesty,” she laughs, settling herself next to you and idly swinging her legs back and forth in the air. She doesn’t appear bothered by the crude things you say most of the time – probably because she can smell through the front you put up easily. That’s part of what makes her so dangerous.

Yet you still somehow manage to pass the time like that with her, watching the stars and playing footsie until you forget why you were even annoyed with her to begin with. That’s another reason why she’s so dangerous; you can’t stay mad at her forever, as much as you think you’d like to sometimes.

Eventually, you think you can surmise at least one thing from this experience: Terezi is much prettier in a flower crown than you are.


	3. Bottle Your Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 8 - Puppy-love Crush
> 
> Adolescence is a strange time, filled with a lot of confusion and change. Karkat Vantas will readily attest to that; however, he will never admit that he's started looking at his best friend in a completely different light, not even to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't try to tell me an awkward middle school karkat wouldn't have the biggest fucking crush on terezi, he so would. like, to the point of being weird about it.

The first time you catch yourself accidentally looking at your best friend in a new way is inconsequential. You just happen to notice the way the sunlight streaming through the classroom window catches her ginger locks and turns them into fire.

It only takes a few seconds to snap yourself out of it, and you can’t attribute it to anything serious. You’re in seventh grade. To you, true love is a mythical concept, belonging in fairytales and B-list sitcoms; of course, the fact that those are both genres you wholeheartedly enjoy isn’t the point.

The next time you’re caught staring, it’s during lunch a week later. The two of you sit together with a rowdy group of some other thirteen-year-olds. You keep glancing up every so often, listening to the way she laughs or noting the way that she grins whenever she says something particularly witty, flashing her dorky rainbow-colored braces.

She notices. When she asks you what’s wrong, you decide to flee the table with the excuse that you’re not hungry. You don’t think she believes it, but she lets you go. She has other friends to entertain herself with, after all.

That’s when you begin to realize that you’re too inadequate to keep her attention for long. _You’re not good enough_.

But that doesn’t stop you from taking note of little things about her, minor habits that she has or quirks that make her almost seem cute. There’s the way she nervously chews on her pencil during tests, or the fact that she likes to scribble dragons in her notes when she gets bored. Then, when there are only five or so minutes left of class before the bell rings, she’ll drum her fingers on her desk or tap her feet in anticipation.

The fact that you’ve been watching her enough to know all that is incredibly creepy, and you’re aware of that, but you can’t help it. It happens without you even realizing it until it’s too late.

It also doesn’t stop you from zoning out in class. Your mind drifts to a happier place, one not sullied with insignificant concepts like linear equations and geometric proofs. You’re doodling her name in the margins of your notebook with your surname tagged onto it as it would be if you ever got married. You don’t know why you’re thinking about this, but does it matter? The very idea gives you those proverbial butterflies in your stomach.

Then you get a better idea – you write _your_ name with her last name instead, because Pyrope sounds much cooler than Vantas. Were you ever to be hers, you think she would like it better if she kept her maiden name.

Your daydreaming is interrupted when the teacher calls on you, asking you how to simplify the equation written on the whiteboard. Obviously, you weren’t even paying attention, but you blurt out an answer anyway, making an even bigger fool of yourself in front of the class. Terezi’s giggling, too, and you turn bright red with embarrassment, because now she must think you’re some kind of goddamn idiot.

Once you get home, you tear the page with her name out of your notebook, crumple it up, and throw it in the trash. It’ll only serve as a reminder of your own stupidity. You tell yourself to start growing up, even if growing up is what made you feel this way in the first place. Pathetic pining won't win you her heart, and ruminating on your emotions in private like this only makes you ache.

As much as you don’t want to admit it to yourself, you’ve got it bad for Terezi Pyrope, and you can’t imagine ever even having the guts to let her know.


	4. Kiss Me Like You Mean It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 9 - Sloppy Make-outs
> 
> More often than not, Karkat and Terezi discover that words aren't really necessary to tell each other how they feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where's the context?? who knows. i thought about making this nsfw but decided against it for once (because i'm lazy).

Karkat’s a clumsy kisser, but what he lacks in elegance he makes up for in passion. As with everything he does, he throws himself into it without thinking, forgoing rationale in favor of raw emotion. When words are no longer necessary, you can sense how he feels, drinking it in and letting it simmer on your tongue.

Kissing him is practically a sensory overload. He stains your lips with licorice and leaves cherry cough syrup on your palate. It takes nearly every ounce of your self-control to keep your sharp teeth from pricking him to draw some of that sweet, heady blood of his.

No, his blood is much more pleasant from beneath his skin, where it doesn’t have that metallic aftertaste. It runs hotter than your own blood, making him nice and warm and all the more comfortable to sit on as you’re doing now. Your make-outs have a habit of quickly shifting from lazy and relaxed to hungry and sloppy when the two of you are alone like this, but you’re definitely not complaining. You may actually be more to blame for that than he is, since the more you taste him, the more of him you feel you need.

He can never really figure out what to do with his hands, so he tends to trace them down your back and rest them on your hips. If he’s feeling particularly bold, he might playfully move them down to grab your backside, or even pull at your clothing to indicate that he wants it off. You’re usually more than happy to oblige. In fact, more often than not, you’re the one to take the initiative and remove it.

Things seem to be heading in that direction already, but he pulls off for a breather after a few more minutes, his cheeks already a delicious-smelling shade of carmine. You decide to improvise, tracing his jawline down to his neck.

He groans, sounding halfway between exasperation and excitement. Tiny goosebumps rise against your tongue as you drag it up to where you can feel his pulse thrumming rapidly beneath his skin.

Likely feeling your grin, he frowns and warns you, “Don’t leave a bunch of marks this time. I’d rather not go out looking like my matesprit mauled me.”

You give him a defiant nip in response. “Aw, that’s no fun. Would it be more fair if I let you do the same to me?”

Sounding almost resigned to your bad behavior, he sighs, “Only if it’ll shut you up for a while.”

“That’s absurd. You like it even more when I make noise!” 

“Not the talking kind. You’re killing the mood,” he replies, and as you stop to laugh he manages to steal your lips again, the opportunistic bastard.

Still, as much as you both like talking just to hear your own voices, it’s not as if you need to say anything at this point. After all, actions speak louder than words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was short. i think i'm starting to get burned out, whoops.


	5. Clandestine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 10 - Blood
> 
> Karkat's convinced that his life will be violently cut short when he reaches adulthood, because the Empire is more than likely to discover his mutation. Luckily, there's one person able to imbue him with the will to continue surviving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took a lot longer than it should've but i think it turned out ok. look at all that angst man

Since your youth, you’ve known that your very existence is a crime. The color pumping through your veins is an illicit red, too bright to even secure a place on the hemospectrum that governs social life on Alternia. It is the mark of a mutant, and like anything else that threatens the status quo, it would warrant your immediate culling if it were to be discovered by any Imperials.

So you do what any rational being would: you hide. You grow up with the awareness that you are a freak and that no amount of wishing can change that.

Naturally, that train of thought isn’t conducive to good self-esteem. When you were younger, you clung stubbornly to futile hope, and you would dream of becoming a threshecutioner feared the universe over. You planned to prove yourself somehow by carrying out heroic deeds in the Empress’s name, which would force everyone to acknowledge your worth in spite of your blood color.

Recalling your naivety now only steeps you horns-deep in melancholy.

Deep down, you were probably always in denial of the fact that an early death was inevitable. Whether your end came from the Empire you looked up to or your own defective DNA, it ultimately didn’t matter; your life was destined to be a short and unhappy one from the beginning. You would have taken even the unrewarding life of a rustblood over the unbelievably shitty hand you were dealt.

You don’t have much time left, since your ninth wriggling day is approaching. Shortly after you reach the age of adulthood, you will be conscripted to work for the Empire, just like every other of-age troll on Alternia. At that point, it will be nigh impossible to scrape by without your blood color getting noticed, so you can consider yourself lucky if you’re given a quick death.

Perhaps it would be easier to resign yourself to your fate if you hadn’t done the unthinkable and formed attachments to people. You never told even your closest friends your shameful secret. Tonight, though, you’re going to change that. There’s one person who needs to know why you won’t be able to join her when she finally departs on her own journey to chase the stars.

You travel to her hive after the almost grueling ordeal of messaging her and conveying that you have something important to tell her. You think you successfully managed to get across how serious your information is, because when she lets you in she spares you any attempt at humor.

You greet her tersely. “Hey, Terezi.”

“Hi,” she returns, shutting the front door behind her and turning to you with her brow furrowed contemplatively. “So, now that we’re in the privacy of my hive… what is it you came all this way to tell me?”

“Getting straight to the point as usual, I see,” you snort wryly.

“Oh, spare me the bullshit for once, Karkat,” she sighs. "You said you needed to tell me something in person that you couldn’t over Trollian for some reason, and wouldn’t even give me any clues beforehand as to what you meant. So it must be pretty damn important, right?”

You nod and swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump that’s formed in your throat. “Yeah. It’s… it’s about my blood.”

Terezi raises an eyebrow at you, her arms crossed over her chest dubiously. “Are you kidding me? You came all the way out here to play up the big secret you’ve made of your blood color? You know, you actually had me worried for a minute that it might be something worth my time!”

“I’m not playing anything up,” you snap defensively, your own arms folded and your shoulders hunched with tension. “There’s a reason I couldn’t tell anyone before, okay? Not… not even you.”

Her lips purse thoughtfully. “What changed, then? Why is it so important all of a sudden?”

“Because.” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to handle the weight of your own words. “I don’t think I’m going to live very far into adulthood.”

There are a few moments of silence. Then she frowns, her nose scrunching up in a look of discontentment. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises tonight,” she practically spits. “This isn’t funny, Karkat.”

“Does it look like I’m fucking joking about this?” You’re having trouble keeping yourself from shouting the more agitated you get. "Do you really think I’d haul my ass all the way up your stupid tree to play some shitty prank?”

“You’ve pulled crap more ridiculous than that in the past,” she scoffs.

“Dammit, Terezi, I’m not a wriggler, and you know it. Maybe stop treating me like one and try actually listening to me for once - if it makes you feel any better, you won’t have to put up with my bullshit for much longer.”

Her eyes narrow, and she looks like she’s about to say something in response, but you beat her to the punch. “Yeah, I know how that sounds. Just… fuck it, it’ll be easier to show you.”

She goes quiet, her unseeing eyes wide as you step closer and drag the pad of your thumb across one of your canines. Your front teeth are far duller than hers, but you manage to slice the skin open just enough for a thin droplet of red to trickle down into your palm.

You then silently thrust your hand out in front of her, almost afraid to break the ice. What is there to say? The evidence should speak for itself.

Her nostrils flare as she leans in to get a good whiff of whatever you couldn’t say aloud. She blinks, the surprise writing itself on her face, then sniffs again as if to confirm her findings.

You’re already feeling disgustingly vulnerable, and it takes everything you have not to start trembling under her scrutiny. For once, she’s absolutely quiet. For once, you wish she wouldn’t be.

“Well?” You can’t take the silence anymore. “Do you finally get it now? Do you see why I can’t just go announcing to everyone what my blood color is? Is it maybe starting to sink in that I likely won’t even get the privilege of being that loser who gets stuck cleaning the load gapers on an Imperial ship?”

When she finally replies, she doesn’t sound rattled at all. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume she had suspicions about your blood from the beginning. “You really believe you’re going to die?”

You’re stunned that she’d believe otherwise. “How the fuck would I be able to get away with living if anyone found out?”

“Well, nobody has to know.” She makes the statement simply and matter-of-factly, as though it should have been obvious.

You let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t get it. Try to be realistic, Terezi. The likelihood that I won’t get noticed right away is basically microscopic - I’d have better luck surviving a fall from your hive.”

“What do you want me to say, then?” she asks, her expression hardening. “‘Well, that sure sucks, Karkat! Hope you have a quick death, at least!’ Or perhaps you were looking for pity? Is sitting around and feeling sorry for yourself just not doing it for you anymore?”

The sting of her words makes you bristle. “No, what the fuck! I didn’t come here just to be a drama queen, Terezi, why can’t you wrap your pan around that? This is a matter of life and death for me!”

“Then why come and tell me, of all people? Did you really expect me to accept it in the same pathetic, passive manner that you have?”

“Accept what, the fact that I have very little chance of survival once I become an adult?”

“You haven’t been able determine that without a doubt,” she argues. “So why have you decided to give up already? That’s not like you. You know, I actually preferred hearing your self-aggrandizing bullshit to this.”

“Well, gee, I’m sorry that the way I feel about my condition makes you so uncomfortable. Fuck, why did I even think telling you all this was a good idea?” You bring your clean hand to your forehead in exasperation.

“It’s because you trust me, right?” Her voice softens a little, and she approaches you slowly, taking your wrist to examine the blood drying on your hand. “Karkat, I’m your friend. If you trust me, why won’t you at least let me try to help you? You know I can’t just sit back and not do anything about this - at least, I hope you know me better than that by now.”

Every instinct you have is screaming at you to flinch away from her touch. If she were anyone else, you probably would. But for her, you remain perfectly still.

“You’d be putting your own safety on the line, too. I don’t want that. I just… didn’t want to disappear without telling you goodbye, at least.” Your chest feels tight, and you wonder if her proximity to you has anything to do with it.

“I can handle myself. Again, that’s something you should know about me already, dumbass,” she says, almost sounding offended. “Do you want to die?”

The question throws you off-guard, making your response somewhat delayed. “... No. Fuck no, of course not.”

“Good. And I don't want you to die, either, so we're on the same page there." She drags her thumb over the tiny trail of blood on your hand as if to clean it, then lets go of you altogether. Sometimes you forget that she's blind, because it seems like she's staring directly at you. "You should be taking whatever measures are necessary to stay alive. You’ve managed to keep your secret for this long, haven’t you? Why let it all go to waste now?”

You protest feebly, “It’s not the same, though. It’s a lot harder to keep things like that hidden when they’re watching you constantly.”

“You’ll be right under their noses,” she agrees. “But you won’t have to do it alone anymore. Like I’ve already said, I’m here. I mean, you do know that I care about you, right?”

“You make it hard to tell sometimes.” You try to laugh again.

“Yes, because sometimes you’re a doofus, and my patience is finite.”

“Thanks. That sure makes me feel special.”

“Don’t mention it.” A hint of a smile pulls at her lips again. “You’ll be okay - I’ll make sure of it. Not a drop of your sweet cherry blood will be spilled on my watch.”

She doesn’t give you a chance to disbelieve her, or even question whether her actions lean more flushed or pale. You can feel her sincerity when she kisses you, and it's enough; for the first time in perigees, you begin to relax.


	6. Up a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 11 - Treehouses
> 
> A teenage Terezi decides to revisit the treehouse from her childhood with a friend. She reflects on her old memories and unwittingly makes some new ones as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i'm bad at titles. anyway, who wants more pre-teen angst? i'm always up for that shit.

Ever since you were little, you've loved treehouses. You’re not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because being surrounded by nature put you at ease, or maybe it was because you enjoyed the elevation – after all, when you were up high, people could no longer look down on you.

For your seventh birthday, your mother had one built for you in the thick branches of the sturdy old oak tree in your backyard. You came to spend more time there than in your own room. It was your fortress and the base of operations for Team Scourge, the LARPing duo you formed with your best friend, Vriska.

That was until an accident caused by her foolishness cost you your eyesight and compromised your friendship. Your “secret base” was abandoned after that, no longer of any use to you. Left to the elements for several years without attention, it is worn and weather-beaten by the time you enter high school.

You don’t know what compels you to revisit it. It’s on a sunny day in late August, and you’re hanging out with Karkat Vantas, fellow freshman and close friend, whose repeated complaints about the heat only make you want to stay outside more.

“It’s not _that_ hot if you get in the shade,” you tell him, stepping under the cover of one of the trees in your yard to make your point. “See?”

“Two or three degrees hardly makes a fucking difference,” he huffs, apparently intent on being a sourpuss. You can’t say you were expecting any different.

“Well, the sun’s not shining on you anymore, so you won’t boil alive, at least,” you point out, though your tone implies that you don’t really care one way or the other.

It’s only after poking around the edges of the tree a bit that you come across the frayed end of a rope ladder, and that’s when you remember the old treehouse still nestled in the branches above you. But instead of ignoring it like you usually do, you find yourself wondering if the old wooden floorboards will still be able to support your weight.

You don’t realize that you’re already scaling the ladder until you hear Karkat ask, “The hell are you doing?” But instead of answering him, you knock on the bottom of the treehouse until you find the hatch that leads into it. Pushing it open, you crawl up into the worn structure. It smells dusty, and you hope you’re not breathing in any mold.

You crouch at the entrance and call back down to your companion. “Hey, you should join me!”

Karkat answers sarcastically, sounding none too eager to take you up on your offer. “Why, did you install air conditioning up there or something?”

“No, but there’s a nice breeze through the window. You’re missing out!”

He doesn’t relent right away, of course, but he concedes eventually, if only because he’s as bored and out of options as you are.

“There,” he puffs as he hauls himself up next to you. “Satisfied?”

“It’ll do for now,” you hum, skimming the end of your cane across the floor curiously.

You hear the floor creak slightly a few times, letting you know that he’s surveying the place. Now that you think about it, you doubt he’s ever been up here before. You’ve had it since before you met him, after all. “Christ, how long has it been since you last fucked around in this thing?” he asks. “It looks like my house’s attic – that is to say, pretty damn unkempt.”

“A few years,” you reply, raising an eyebrow in his general direction. “I’m not sure what got you all concerned about my treehouse’s condition, though. Just a minute ago you were bitching about coming up here.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still- oh my god, is that a fucking spider?” He scrambles backwards, and you take a second to pat yourself on the back for remembering to close the hatch, because otherwise he may very well have fallen through.

“Chill out,” you scoff. You’d figured that there would be a few bugs and cobwebs here and there, at the very least. “Don’t tell me you’re actually afraid of spiders.”

“What? No!” He stammers hastily in an attempt to save face, but you don’t buy it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” you assure him, grinning.

“Eat shit,” he snaps. “Why did we even come up here, anyway? This place is a dump.”

“Mm. I’m sure,” you agree absentmindedly, closing your eyes and moving to stand in front of one of the small windows cut into the side facing the yard, where you can feel a slight breeze coming through. “Nostalgia, I guess. It has a pretty nice view, for only being fifteen feet or so off the ground. Or... it did, from what I can remember, at least.”

“But you… Oh.” That makes him pause, probably at a loss for words. Not that you can blame him – the only thing he knows about your disability is that you weren’t blind from birth. It’s actually sort of funny how even an insensitive ass like him will clam up when breaching such a touchy subject. “Um. Look, Terezi, I-”

You tilt your head towards the sound of his voice with a smirk. “But I can’t look, dummy. I’m blind!”

He sighs, almost sounding relieved for a moment that you’re not offended before the exasperation returns to his tone. “Well, I walked right into that one. Dammit.”

“And you don’t even have an excuse for walking into things, since you can see!” you snicker.

“Oh, shut up,” he fires back, but it lacks the bite that he normally has. He comes to stand next to you, and there are a few moments of pleasant silence before he speaks up again. “I never really had anything like this as a kid, but… I guess you’re right. I mean, if you consider other people’s backyards to be a 'nice view'.”

You snort. “Wow, rub it in my face some more, why don’t you!”

“Wha- hey, you’re the one who said it first, not me!”

Hearing him get defensive makes you giggle again. “I know. I’m just messing with you, since you’re making it so easy for me.”

He grumbles a little to himself, something like “Fuck off,” but you don’t care. You’re in an oddly good mood, but as you lean on the edge of the window and listen to the wind rustle the oak leaves around you, your smile grows melancholy. You can no longer look down on the world as you used to, your soul sister at your side. It’s a bittersweet thought, and you’ve accepted it, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped dwelling on the past entirely.

“Besides,” you continue belatedly, “I don’t actually miss seeing all that much. I did at first, kind of… but once I got used to it, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, relying on my other senses has improved them! That’s more of a win than a loss, if you ask me.”

In response to his nervous silence, you move close enough for your shoulders to press together. “For instance… I can tell that your heart rate just increased.”

“What a load of shit,” he says, but his voice wavers ever so slightly. “Even if that were the case, it’d be because you have no fucking concept of personal space.”

“But you’re not moving.” You slowly take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze. “See, your pulse is racing. I told you, you make this too easy for me.”

“This isn’t one of your shitty games, though.” he replies quietly when he’s able to speak again, and he almost sounds wounded. “Stop treating it like one."

“I know.” You trace the backs of his knuckles with your thumb. “I appreciate you indulging me. But this could be fun for you, too, if you let it. Lighten up a little, yeah?”

“Or maybe you could try to take me seriously for once.”

He still doesn’t move away. You shake your head, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, feeling his calloused palms. “Oh, Karkat, you can be so dense,” you tell him almost in a whisper, as if sharing a secret. "Can’t you tell? I already do.” Why else would you have brought him up to a place so significant that you once considered it hallowed ground? Sometimes you swear this boy is blinder than you are.

On a sunny day in late August, you share your first kiss with Karkat Vantas in the musty old treehouse from your childhood. He soon complains that it’s too hot up there, even hotter than the rest of the yard, and you joke that you probably had something to do with it.

Among all of the memories you’ve made in that treehouse, this one is definitely your favorite.


	7. An Unintended Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 12 - Last Time Seeing Each Other
> 
> Karkat and Terezi don't fight often, but when they do, it gets intense. Intended or not, words always have consequences. Terezi then learns just why one should never take people for granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im an asshole for writing this and acesparklegirl is even more of an asshole for giving me the idea in the first place. fuck u haley

You can say with certainty that you love Karkat Vantas, truly and deeply. You can also say with certainty that he can be the biggest pain in the ass you’ve ever had to deal with. 

You bicker often, usually over silly and insignificant things like whose turn it is to take out the trash or pick up groceries. Sometimes you even argue. Both of you are stubborn by nature, but in every case your disagreements always end up resolved somehow. Very rarely do you actually fight about anything.

When you do, it escalates quickly. You have a bad habit of losing control of your sharp tongue, using it to wound him in ways you would never even consider doing otherwise. It never becomes physical, because you both know better than that, but it winds up hurting just the same.

This time is no different. Words are exchanged, even some downright cruel statements that can’t be taken back. It goes without saying that after bumps like these, you both need time to cool off away from each other, so Karkat stomps out of the apartment, presumably to go get a drink or seek the consolation of his friends.

So you sulk and occupy yourself with other things to take your mind off of it. Hours pass. He doesn’t come back.

Once your anger has finally dissipated, you begin to worry. Where is he? Did he just decide to crash at a friend’s place for the night and forget to tell you? That seems plausible enough.

You attempt to call his cell, but he doesn’t pick up. You try again, and when you’re directed to his voicemail a second time you leave him a message, telling him that you’re ready to talk. Part of you wants to apologize, but you feel that it'll be more meaningful if you do so in person.

When you’re finally called back, the person on the other end isn’t Karkat. A voice you don’t recognize informs you that he was in a car accident and that he is currently in the nearby hospital’s urgent care.

You start to feel a little sick, and you find yourself hating how calm the voice on the phone sounds. You don’t give it the chance to ask about dumb things like his insurance information before you hang up in favor of calling someone to drive you to the hospital.

By the time you’re actually allowed to visit him, you’re ready to break something. You kept getting told that visitors weren’t allowed until his condition was stable, but you refused to back down. All you can think about is how it’s your fault that he’s here in the first place. If you hadn’t been so combative, or had at least done something to keep him from leaving, he would never have gotten hit.

When you’re finally ushered into his room, you’re glad that you’re blind, because you know that seeing how badly he’s been injured would make you feel even worse. As you approach what you assume is his bed, you’re already able to hear his labored breathing and the abnormally slow beep from the heart monitor.

Then he weakly rasps your name, and you suddenly almost want to cry. “Terezi. You… actually came.”

“How could I not?” you ask, as though offended he’d imply that you wouldn’t care. You grope around for his hand to hold, and his fingers can only twitch pitifully in response. “It’s my fault you ended up like this, anyway.”

“No... S’not anyone’s fault but mine,” he insists. You can tell that just talking takes an enormous amount of energy for him, and his words sort of slur together, but like the stubborn idiot he is, he keeps doing it anyway. “Look, ‘Rez. I’m not mad anymore. Okay? You know I can’t stay mad at you… I love you. Everything… it’ll all be fine.”

You’re having trouble believing him, because the harder he breathes the more his chest rattles and the slower the EKG beeps. “Hey. The shit I said earlier… that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you sorry for?” Your eyes have started watering, and it takes everything you have to keep from shaking. “Who cares about that right now? You might not even come out of this alive, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

He just repeats himself, his voice a broken wheeze. “I’m sorry…”

His hand grows heavier in yours, and the blips from his heart monitor start to blur together. Then _you_ begin feeling like you can’t breathe, because you can’t do anything, even when his EKG produces a single, flat note. The sound echoes through your ears and chills your blood. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that even if you could speak, it wouldn’t matter, anyway. Karkat can’t hear you anymore.

You can only numbly let yourself be guided away by a nurse as a doctor attempts to revive him. Any sensory input from the world around you fades into the background as you try to process everything that just happened.

Above all else, one thought persistently eats at you: he told you he loved you, and you never got to remind him that you love him, too.


End file.
